


The Serpent's Son

by ishafel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius loves his son almost as much as he hates him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Serpent's Son

He almost wishes he were back in Azkaban: in Azkaban there are no divided loyalties, no difficult choices, no Voldemort and no Draco. He kneels before Voldemort, and he does not turn his head to look at Voldemort's prisoners, at his wife, his only son, and his closest friend. He cannot save them all. He may not be able to save any of them. It is Draco's fault, and in his heart Lucius knows that the blame rests not on Draco's youth, or on his sheltered upbringing, but on some flaw in the boy himself. In Azkaban he felt numb, empty, but now that he is free he is blazingly angry.

Voldemort has given him an order. He must break one of these three. He is free to choose which one. Narcissa's bloodline is irreplaceable. Snape risked his life to save Lucius's son. And it is because of Draco that they are come to this. There will be other sons, if the Dark Lord wills it. Lucius has brothers, cousins, male heirs. He has made his choice already and it was not nearly so difficult as Voldemort must have wished it to be.

"Draco," he says, and it is the first word he has said since they came for him in Azkaban, since they told him how the world had ended. Voldemort lifts his hand and Draco's bonds fall away. Lucius knows what to do. He was Voldemort's executioner a lifetime ago, during the first war. He stands on one edge of the circle; his son stands opposite him. This is the position they would take if they were going to duel, or if they were casting wards for ritual magic. Lucius has something more primitive in mind.

"Tell me why you did it," he commands, in part because he knows Voldemort expects it and in part because he is honestly curious.

"Because I hate you," Draco says in answer, and his voice trembles but his hands are steady and quiet at his sides. "Because it was the worst thing I could think of to do to you."

Lucius crosses the circle before he realizes he's moved. He slaps Draco, so hard that it makes his hand hurt. He has never hit his son before: the man he was before he went to Azkaban would never have considered it. He was an idealist once, a man who loved the sound of his own voice. But Azkaban takes everything from you-love and compassion, passion and belief. Everything but the will to live, and rage, if you are very strong and very angry.

Draco staggers back, and his gray eyes-gray as the North Sea, gray as Lucius's own eyes--fill with tears. And Lucius is not sorry. "Do you know," he demands, "the position you have put me in? Revenge is excusable. Hell, revenge is admirable! But will you never learn to think?"

Harry Potter faced the Dark Lord's finest Death Eaters and fought like fury. Lucius has little doubt that given sufficient encouragement he would have managed the Unforgivable Curses. His own son-his own son looks back at him with the sulky, betrayed expression of a child. It is tempting to hit him again, but there are worse punishments.

He casts the first Cruciatus before Draco got his fingers around the wand handle in his sleeve. Even as he invoked the curse he thought, I will be sorry for this. But he watches Draco writhing on the ground, and he is not sorry at all. There was something strangely arousing about the sight of the boy in pain.

He casts the second Cruciatus, and it makes Draco scream. Lucius could have told him it was always a mistake to scream. But he is far too angry to tell him anything. "Tell me why you did it," he says again, and this time he puts behind it all the force of will he has. "Tell me that you did not betray everything your mother and I spent our lives working to achieve!" He could get the truth from the boy using the Imperius, and he is Legelimens enough to rip the knowledge from his mind. But he does not need to. Draco will tell him the truth. Draco is dying to tell him the truth.

"I lost my nerve," Draco answers him. He cannot bring himself to meet Lucius's eyes. "Is that so hard to believe? That a son of yours could be a coward?"

"I always knew you were a coward," Lucius says. "I didn't know just how worthless you were." It is the truth, God help him. He has never been anything but honest with Draco because he does not think it necessary to lie. Draco is a child. Draco will never be anything else. It will be a pleasure to destroy him. He takes his son's wand and throws it across the circle, so that it lies at Voldemort's feet. He drags the boy to the pentagram and drops him.

Draco makes no effort to fight him. His skin is the color of chalk, and his breathing is shallow. He is going into shock. It becomes him, to be without the sneer he's worn all night. It makes him look younger, more like the boy Lucius used to love. If only Lucius loved him enough to save him: if only Lucius had loved him enough to keep him from growing into a little weasel of a traitor.

Lucius shrugs off his cloak and lets it fall to the ground. With the toe of his boot, he rolls Draco over onto his face. He can do this. He is so angry he wants to do it. Does he owe the rage that burns through him to Azkaban or Voldemort, or is it his own? It does not really matter, because what he is about to do will be enough to save two of his hostages and buy the Dark Lord's favor.

He uses magic to remove Draco's clothing. There are whispers from the assembled Death Eaters. He wonders what it is they find so titillating: whether it is Draco's pale thin body, the distance the Malfoys have fallen, the fact that this is incest. He must be the only man in the room not already hard at the thought of what is about to happen. The only man besides Draco.

The last time he did this, the last time he broke someone this way for Voldemort, it was James Potter the night the first war was lost. He wonders if Voldemort remembers. He cannot stop himself from turning to look at the Dark Lord, but there is nothing human or readable in that ruined face. He unbuttons his trousers and kneels beside his son. Draco is shaking, and his skin is cool beneath Lucius's hand.

Lucius can remember the day Draco was born, how proud he was, and how grateful. He remembers when Draco was eleven and went away to Hogwarts. He remembers when Draco was fifteen, and could not kill a man he was supposed to hate in order to save his mother's life. He remembers the way Pettigrew laughed as he told Lucius the story. His body has been deprived for a long time, not only of sex but also of touch. Now it stirs to life.

He uses a spell for lubrication. It seems less intimate. There are so many things about his son he does not know, that now he never will. He closes his eyes while he strokes himself, and wishes he could come up with a way out of this. He is not angry any more, only sorry that it has come to this. But he knows Voldemort would not have let Draco live, even if Lucius had chosen Narcissa or Severus to destroy.

His cock is hardening in his hand. This, at least, he can still control. He pushes himself into his son and it is tighter than he thought was possible. Beneath him, Draco moans once, very softly. Lucius thrusts into him, making no effort to be gentle; surely it is better to be quick. It is only when he finishes that he realizes he has been crying the whole time.

Before he withdraws, before he can think any more about it, before Draco has time to fight, he closes his hand around his wand and whispers "Avada Kedavra." Draco's heart stops beating. Lucius pulls out and rolls away from him, and forgetting his audience and his master for a moment, he buries his face in his arms and cries like a child.


End file.
